In the photo, Quincy Larson, my best friend, and Luka Caldwell, my childhood sweetheart, held hands, smiling as if joy belonged only to them.
I rubbed my eyes hard, unwilling to believe what I was seeing. The image struck me like lightning, leaving me stunned.
The house was laid out the same as before, yet everything tied to me was gone.
The souvenirs from trips with Luka, the anniversary vase we had ordered together, the photo wall in the living room, every trace of me had vanished.
Then I heard the sound of the door unlocking behind me, followed by laughter and voices.
“Quincy, I just learned a new recipe. I’ll cook it for you.”
“Alright, I’ll help you out.”
I didn’t turn around. My eyes stayed fixed on the wedding photo. The laughter and chatter stopped the moment the door opened.
“Who are you?” Luka’s voice was cautious, edged with suspicion. He didn’t recognize me anymore.
Once, no matter the distance or the crowd, Luka could always find me instantly.
I turned slowly. The second they saw my face, both of them froze in shock.
I was covered in dirt and mud, my body weak and thin.